


Glitterball Gods and Cinnamon Rolls

by angelan



Category: October Daye Series - Seanan McGuire
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 10:02:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelan/pseuds/angelan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>May takes Quentin out for coffee to a lovely little place on Telegrave Avenue.  Why there?  No reason.  Nope.  Completely disinterested choice.  They just do nice pastries is all.  Yep.  Uh huh.  What junk shop?  She certainly didn't invite Quentin along so he could carry her haul home.  Not at all.</p>
<p>Set between An Artificial Night and Late Eclipses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glitterball Gods and Cinnamon Rolls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EllieMurasaki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieMurasaki/gifts).



_They are more different than May can believe, sometimes. Their outsides match, in shades of brown and grey, closer than twins. Their insides, though. Their insides are black and white. Eventually, she gives in to the need to change herself._

_The wall between their lives is not a mirror. She decides she will not be a reflection._

 

“Quentin?” 

There was no reply to her question, but perhaps the intruder hadn't heard her. Whoever it was, they had a key, which _should_ have reduced the list of suspects to two.

Toby wasn't home. She'd been away, out of their apartment, even more often than usual lately. Rarely had she bothered to share with May her destination or purpose. May suspected it was largely to do with large bouts of sulking. Possibly brooding. Perhaps a few hours of being maudlin in there, just to mix it up. The clattering coming from the kitchen didn't really sound like Toby, anyway. She hadn't heard the tell tale sound of the coffee maker, percolating away, which implied a lack of her better half.

May got up from her dresser, face only half made up, glitter on her fingers, and opened the door to see Quentin, probably six inches taller than the last time she saw him, and opening cupboards in their kitchen with a combination of despondence and hope on his face.

“Sorry kiddo. No pop tarts today.”

He looked down at her in disappointment, then the look on his face turned curious. 

“Why's half your face purple?”

“What?”

“Is it...meant to be like that?” He caught himself and ran a hand through his hair self consciously. “Because, I mean, it's interesting! It sparkles!”

She glanced at her reflection in the shiny chrome on Toby's coffee maker, then looked down at her purple glitter covered hand.

“I think I must have rubbed my eye. Experiment failed.” She wandered back into her room to take off her make up. Quentin was still hovering when she came back.

“No chance Toby's out food shopping, is there?” He had a wry grin on his face that told her he knew the answer.

“Nope. You hungry?”

“Uh, kind of always.”

“Awesome. Let me fix my face, and we'll go get pastries. I know a really great place that does cinnamon rolls you could wear as a hat.”

This unsurprisingly went down extremely well. Toby would be complaining about their grocery bill soon, with all the time Quentin was spending at the apartment.

May fixed her eye make up, blue shifting to purple, with silver glitter eyeliner. She sprayed her newly pink hair with glitter for good measure, gathered her things, and went to haul Quentin off the sofa, which had apparently been secretly fitted with a Teenage Boy Magnet (along with the TV remote, specifically the buttons for the sports channel).

“Feeling pretty underdressed now, May...” Quentin complained as they got on the bus. Human disguises in place, she looked like the fabulously dressed fairy godmother to a scruffy teenage boy. Possibly the purple glitter petticoats were overkill for a trip to the bakery. Then again, the cinnamon rolls were really that fantastic...they deserved the extra effort.

“Well, we can stop off at a Sephora and pick you up some glitter eyeliner too, if you want...”

“Pff, if I started wearing glitter too no one would be able to look directly at us.”

That probably wouldn't be a bad thing, May reflected, a little sadly. Even with his human disguise, Quentin got looked up and down by the humans on the bus way more often than he noticed. He didn't talk about Katie much, and she didn't like to prod (that was a lie, she loved to prod, but she was capable of sensitivity on some occasions) but the last thing he needed was a parade of teenage humans begging for a date. 

“We'd be worshipped as glitter ball gods, Quentin. The people love sparkle! At least, the people are always giving me free stuff, so I assume they love it.”

The bus ride to Oakland was long but only slightly colourful (one man Shakespeare performance beginning as they went over the bridge and ending at the stop by the community theatre), which didn't prevent Quentin from grumbling about having to take public transit. He might have been getting used to slumming it with Toby, the the kid was still pureblood noble faerie at heart.

“I told you, Toby took the car. And she hates it when I drive anyway, which is a total injustice, because I've never even scratched it.” 

Quentin grinned. “She did get pretty mad when you wore that skirt to drive to go get groceries and left her with a glittery ass next time she used the car.” 

May smiled at the memory. “She said she was going to push me out of the window. It was a pretty impressive rage.”

They got off at the Children's Hospital and walked up to Telegraph. The sun might have been down, but it was only early evening, and there were still plenty of people out on the streets. May glanced at the antique shop next door to The Mixing Bowl. To mortal eyes, it appeared to be a dusty old shop, with irregular opening hours, filled with piles of books no one wanted to read, an entire model english village no one had even touched in decades, and glass necklaces that had probably been in and out of fashion five times since they'd been made, without anyone ever wearing them. To non mortal sight it was...different.

Quentin gave her the I-know-that-look side eye. 

“I know that look. No. You promised me a cinnamon roll, and possibly a hat.” Sudden realisation evidently dawned on him. “But you could have gotten a cinnamon roll from that place on Noriega, they're great...”

“Ok fine. It's a _teeny_ bit possible that I _might_ have been given a recommendation for a shop that _might_ sell the one _tiiiny_ thing I could _maybe_ use to liven up my room. Just a little. It'll only take five minutes!”

Quentin didn't reply at first, but the look on his face might generously have been described as skeptical. May demurred.

“Ten minutes?” She tried.

“Mmhm.” 

“...we go for cinnamon rolls first?”

A solemn nod, broken by a grin was her reward.

“Cinnamon rolls should always come first.”

“A motto for life.” May agreed.

The Mixing Bowl was run by a Selkie named Sal (“Don't fucking aliterate me, you assholes”) with a halo of tight brown curls, big soulful eyes, and a whirlwind of nautical tattoos up and down her muscular arms. The whole place had a gently oceanic feel to it, all driftwood tables, and sea glass candle holders. It had a subtle smell of the sea, even this far from the beach. Sal greeted May with a smile, and stepped down from the upturned crate she used to reach to mugs on the higher wooden shelves.

“Hey, you came! And you dressed up for me! Too bad I'm taken.” She put a hand to her chest and closed her eyes in a mock sob.

“Your friend's shop looks amazing! Quentin needs a cinnamon roll, though. Can't have him carrying home my haul on an empty stomach!”

Quentin turned to her, eyes narrowed. “I knew it.”

“Of course you did. You're very clever. Now pick out something good for Toby – she'll never forgive us if we don't bring something back.”

They sat in a corner by the window to devour their pastries, and May chattered aimlessly about her week, trying to help Quentin ignore the giggling teenage girls across the cafe, who had noticed Quentin, and presumably thought they had a teen idol in their midst, by the way they were (not so) covertly snapping photos on their phones. The distraction technique wasn't working – he was tense, and shifting restlessly in his seat.

“Can't we do something about that?” 

“You could make your human disguise a bit uglier-” May started.

“I just want them to ignore me!” He said, probably a bit louder than he intended, then looked down, embarrassed.

May quietly cast a very mild don't-look-here spell. The giggling softened and stopped. Quentin continued to study his shoes.

“You want to talk about it? Her, I mean.” She asked, gently.

Quentin ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

“All I ever do at court is 'talk about it'. _'You did the right thing Quentin, you're both better off, humans aren't meant to see the fae world, well done. Pat on the back.'_ So yeah. I'm good. Thanks.”

“But...?” May let the question hang, and stirred her hot chocolate. She always got extra marshmallows, and they never quite melted right, leaving a film of sugary goo on the top of her drink that required attention. Quentin was quiet and still for a good long while. Like all the anger had drifted off, and nothing was really fuelling his restless motion any more.

“But I really fucking miss her.” He paused again, and May waited for what was left.

“She was...I mean she is...but, she...She was just really cool. And she liked baseball, and she knew everything about movies, and I knew nothing, so she was always teasing me. And I think like sixty percent of the time I was with her I was laughing. Like, she sat next to me in math, that's how we met, and I got detention two classes in a row for snorting. So she offered to buy me lunch to make up for it. And I _know_ we would have broken up eventually. Even if the fae thing hadn't come up. She wanted to go to New York to study film, it was her total life goal. _'Tisch School of the Arts with a year abroad in Prague'_. One of her friends embroidered that on a pillow for her birthday this year.”

“You know you're allowed to miss her, right? She sounds great. Really great.”

He played with the last bit of his cinnamon roll, the only part to escape a smothering in frosting, tearing it into tinier and tinier crumbs.

“She was just human, right?” He spoke bitterly, but couldn't quite meet her eyes.

“Yeah. But you're just Daoine Sidhe. I'm just a Fetch. We're all _just_. Until the right person comes along.”

“You think she'll be ok?”

May nodded, with absolute sincerity. “I think we'll go see one of her movies someday. I think it'll be brilliant.”

Quentin smiled. It wasn't much of a smile, but it was there. Visible to the naked eye.

“Yeah. You mind if I skip the store? I'll take the baked goods to Toby – put her in a good mood before she sees the giant pile of junk you're going to bring home.”

May rolled her eyes. “One thing! I'm going for one _tiiiny_ thing!”

 

May saw Quentin onto the bus, then doubled back to the antiques store. The door gave a cheerful jingle as she pushed it open, and as she walked in, she immediately determined that her source had not lied, that she was going to become a regular patron, and that Quentin had been very, very right to ply Toby with cinnamon rolls, because she was going to come back to the apartment with a _haul_. The contrast between the reality of the shop, and the glamour that concealed it from mortals was immense. There wasn’t a spec of dust anywhere, and it looked like the treasure room of a very successful fae pirate, all silk scarves and piles of glittering treasures. May wanted to do a little dance, but she settled for a short twirl, because she had to focus. 

There were things she needed. Her room in Toby's apartment had once been spare and unloved. Toby wasn't much of a pack rat, and definitely not the sort of woman to put cheerful pictures in an unused room. It had been home mostly to old cardboard boxes and discarded cat toys, along with one ancient, unfortunately stained sofa bed. She'd discarded most of that, and a trip to Ikea later, she had all the basic necessities of life, and a new understanding of just how grumpy Toby could be (there had been an agreement that if anyone needed to visit Ikea again, May was allowed to take the car). What she didn't have were most of the decorative necessities of life. Specifically, on this occasion, a jewellery box big enough for her ever increasing pile of treasures.

 

_When May remembers, later, she will recall the blue black of Jasmine's feather dark hair, the amber of her eyes, and the spicy ginger smell of her perfume. The rest of the moment is too embarrassing._

 

“I shouldn't have let Quentin go home.” May grumbled, aloud. The Box of Her Dreams was just out of reach, next to the Fanciest Bottle of Bubble Bath You Ever Did See. The price tag had been accidentally turned face down. May knew she should probably just shout for the owner, but she'd heard three curses from the back room already, and decided to find out for herself. This was a mistake.

This was a, crash, smash, head full of bubble bath, _mistake_.

She woke up on the floor, staring at an ostentatious chandelier. 

“Uh...” May started, eloquently. 

Her view was interrupted by a hand waving in front of her.

“How many fingers?”

She squinted. It was a whole hand. Medium brown. Gold nail polish. Not very much room for error.

“Five..?”

“Great! You're not dead. I would also have accepted 'four fingers and a thumb'.”

May accepted the offered hand, and got up. She had never seen a Raven Maid before, but Toby had, and her memories allowed May to recognise the feathered headband that would allow her to change shape.

“Pretty sure I'm indestructible, actually...” May said, brushing down her skirt and shedding glitter onto the floor. She caught the other woman scrutinising her face.

“I'm not October Daye.” She said, flatly. It was a common mistake – Toby had just killed Blind Michael. Even under May's hair dye and sparkles, people sometimes saw her other half and made unfortunate assumptions.

“Oh, no. I didn't think you were. You have a much better dress sense. I'm Jasmine. Well, Jazz, usually. Not always. Not to my mother. Sometimes to my father. Are you sure you're ok? Maybe you need some air? I should open a window.”

She hopped up onto the desk and brushed aside the organza curtain to do so.

“I'm fine – my own stupid fault. I'll pay for the bubble bath.” May ran a hand through her hair. It wasn't as full of bubble bath as it might have been, but she was suddenly aware that she probably looked a bit of a fright.

“What? No! I shouldn't put things up high – it's not like I can reach them without a stepladder. But, you know, bird. Raven Maid. I sometimes think about things from the top down. Also kind of a death omen, so, I guess putting things on high shelves in a dangerous way is kind of my thing. Sorry, I'm going on, aren't I? Do you want coffee?” Jazz asked, jumping lightly down from the desk, which was an impressive manoeuvre, given the height of her heels. 

“I...yeah, coffee would be good. Also maybe a towel?”

They got coffee. May got her hair cleaned up. Jazz got out a giant bag of cosmetics and redid May's make up. She had to do it a few times, because how could you be sure you had the right combination of pinks unless you tried them all out. May's eyeliner had never, ever been so perfect. Occasionally, they had their conversation (flirtation) interrupted by someone who wanted to come into the shop and buy something. Eventually the shop had to be closed.

“I'm diurnal, you know? I hang out with Selkies a lot. There aren't many Raven Maids in town.”

May was quiet for a while, as Jazz locked up the shop and they walked out into the cool night air.

“I'm a fetch.” She blurted. “So. Uhm. You're not the only death omen in this conversation? My person didn't die though, so...I'm sticking around.” May inwardly groaned. There was probably a delicate way to tell a pretty girl that you only existed to herald the death of another. That hadn't been it.

“Huh.” Jazz shrugged. “Well, I've been in relationships with bigger problems. I mean, it's really not a problem. For me. In a relationship. Not that we're in a relationship. But we could be? If you wanted.” She paused for a second. “I think what I'm saying is do you want to go on a date? I think that's my question.”

May grinned.

“Only if you'll meet me beforehand and make sure my make up is _perfect_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Yuletide! I took a few liberties with May and Jazz's meeting - hope that's ok! I also probably took a few liberties with San Fransisco geography so apologies for that. Hope you enjoyed - I love all the side characters in the October Daye series, particularly May and Quentin, so thanks for a prompt that let me play with them for a bit :).


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